


Pen and Paper, Keyboard and Screen

by TheTriggeredHappy



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Depression mention, Gen, Suicide mention, anxiety mention, basically if you saw it in the actual musical it's probably in here too, cursing, drug mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/TheTriggeredHappy
Summary: Connor reread the letter he took from Evan, and when things are looking a little dark, he writes a response.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[*riding in on heelys* sup fuckers, who's ready to read that good old first person limited PoV bullshit?
> 
> saw the musical in person (yeah i know i was pumped too) and got inspired or something. let's do this]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

It turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because... why would it be?

Oh I know. Because there’s Zoe. And all my hope is pinned on Zoe. Who I don’t even know and who doesn’t know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just talk to her, then maybe... maybe nothing would be different at all.

I wish everything was different. I wish I was part of... something. I wish that anything I said... mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: Would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?

 

Sincerely,

Your best and most dearest friend,

Me.

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I found this letter yesterday on the printer and I used it as my excuse when I went to apologize to you or whatever the fuck that was, then found out that you were just fucking with me or whatever, and now I actually read it and I'm like. even more confused than I was before? because this isn't the kinda shit people would write to get some school-shooter looking kid all riled up.

like, I guess I'm just confused about why the fuck you're talking about my sister or whatever. what even is this note?

guess it doesn't matter since I'll probably never see you or anyone at school ever again right? I don't even know you so I have no idea why I'm even writing this.

whatever.

 

Sincerely,

some random freak who you're probably scared shitless of,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so due to recent, or actually probably upcoming events, I was thinking about suicide notes and that letter looked a lot like one which has got me less annoyed and more concerned now? which is fuckin stupid honestly because like, I don't even know you and you literally know nothing about me even though we've been going to the same school for... ever? I guess I just never really talked to you, or like. anyone.

and you probably don't remember this but there was actually that one time where I was walking through the hallway after school because I skipped and was getting back late (which you definitely didn't know so why am I talking about it) and you were leaving the band room or something and you had some massive instrument case and like three music stands and some other kids were carrying like, one stand each like smart people do and I stopped to let the fuckin nerd parade pass across the hall and some passing kid clipped my arm with a stand which made me jump a little and I dropped my bag and like an entire binder full of papers spilled everywhere and like two passing kids laughed at me and I was about to punch a nerd but like

then you stopped, this little—what are you, 5'6?—whatever, this short kid carrying like, a tuba case and three music stands, you just stopped and put all this shit down and started helping me pick this shit up. like you actually literally sat down on the floor to help me pick all this shit up. and you were apologizing the whole time, like, you were acting like it was all your fault or something, and I don't know what to say when people do that except for "it's cool" and we just kept looping back and forth with that and we sounded fuckin stupid definitely because people walking by were kinda laughing at it, but anyways you got my shit picked up and you even tried to put it in a neat pile which is dumb because it wasn't in the first place, then I tried to say thank you and I fucked it up, because. I didn't say "thank you" I said "thanks, nerd" which was fucking rude considering that you, carrying like fifteen things, stopped to help when these other assholes who had maybe two things tops didn't, and I didn't get to apologize because then you were stuttering and fidgeting and trying to pick stuff back up again and.

I should've helped you but I didn't. I should've.

anyways you probably don't remember that but it was the nicest anyone had been to me all semester, so, it was cool to me is what I was trying to say. I guess you play tuba in the concert band or something, I saw you at like, the only concert I ever went to later that year. that thing looks fucking heavy, I have no idea how you carry that around all the time. only I guess you can't play anymore since your arm is broken, so... nevermind.

this letter is fucking stupid.

 

Sincerely,

the asshole who spilled his shit all across the hall in sophomore year,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I haven't been to school in like, two days plus the weekend because I thought I was going to kill myself by now. which hasn't happened, clearly. but last time I tried to sit down and write my suicide note, instead I wrote some stupid fucking letter to you and I rambled for like ten minutes and then Zoe came in my room like right after I was done and we had an argument because I ate all the pizza rolls or some shit and who kills themselves after yelling at their sister about pizza rolls right? so I couldn't even fucking do it.

so, fuck you, Evan Hansen, who doesn't even know any of this, and fuck you Evan Hansen for not even knowing me but somehow making it onto my list of people I would even write a note to because I was the only person to sign your cast because you just looked so goddamn pitiful, and fuck you Evan Hansen for, once again, distracting me from writing a suicide note to nobody because nobody actually gives a shit about me and I have nothing to say to these motherfuckers. fuck you.

 

Sincerely,

fuck you,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I'm sorry I pushed you down in the hall, and I'm sorry I flipped my shit on you in the computer lab, and I'm sorry I didn't even get the chance to apologize when we were in the computer lab anyways because you apparently are literally always doing that anyways and I couldn't get my own apology in over that pitiful shit.

fuck, there I go again being an asshole. I'm trying to say some shit here about how I'm sorry for being an asshole and there I go in literally the same sentence and insult you.

like, I'm in here going over these last few letters and I'm just an asshole even though I have met you maybe twice at most. am I just like this all the time? is this why literally nobody talks to me outside of my shitty parents and maybe my sister sometimes?

all the more reason to kill myself, I guess.

 

Sincerely,

an asshole,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

it's currently three in the morning and tomorrow (today?) I think I might go to school, which would mean that two out of five days this year, I showed up. I don't know what I'll do if I see you. like, how fucking creepy is it that some suicidal kid is writing to you when he instead planned to kill himself? I mean, the only real reason I'm going back at all is because I need to give you that letter back. which is pretty dumb. you just wouldn't get it back if I killed myself first which is... y'know. a thing that might worry you or something, which would be not cool.

I don't know, it just seems like you're the type of person who would be really fucking freaked out if I just never gave it back. you're an anxious mess, like, clearly. you probably already get bullied or whatever. if I was a bully I would like, definitely steal your lunch money. you have a broken arm and you wear polo shirts. no, literally, I looked at the yearbook from last year because I didn't want to reread every book on my shelf again and in every picture you were in you had a polo shirt on. what the fuck? that is not a coincidence. you look like a fuckin country club dad, but with all the dad gone. whatever, point is that you're visibly breakable and I would feel bad. or, worse than I feel now, I mean.

so see you tomorrow I guess?

 

Sincerely,

later,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I chickened out. I mean, I showed up to school, which is whatever. but I didn't give you your letter back. apparently there was some rumor started about me killing myself, which was almost accurate, but... yeah, I only saw you once and I just couldn't do it. I'm a coward.

nobody else has signed your cast still, but you haven't washed my name off it or painted over it, so... I don't know. do you seriously not have any other friends? I mean, any friends. we aren't friends. I don't know you, so I don't know why I said "other" before friends. I don't count.

I think you were right. in that letter. if you had disappeared I might not have even noticed, not for a long time. I think I would notice now, though. I'm sorry that I wouldn't have before.

nobody deserves that. why are we so similar? why do I feel like I already pretty much know you?

I think what you say matters.

 

Sincerely,

the coward,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[yeah evan is in concert band but he's pretty much sitting out for the year because of anxiety plus broken limb. and connor likes to read. so yeah. kudos comments hate messages on my tumblr @thetriggeredhappy i take any of that shit]]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[i wrote this the same day as last chapter but also didn't wanna post everything at once sooooo yeah]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

welcome to the first letter I've ever written you where I wasn't literally minutes away from killing myself when I started writing and then promptly out of energy for it by the end. hooray. confetti.

truth is, today fucking ruled. I skipped school (again) because whenever I go I just start staring around and looking for you to give you that letter back which looks creepy and shifty and people start staring and it's just a bad time and it's been like three days in a row of that so I'm taking a break even though it's Friday anyways. so I was driving around and I found this ice cream place that I used to go to with like, probably the most generic name in the universe (A La Mode, which literally means "with ice cream", like they named their ice cream place that, why), and they were actually open which is super weird and I grabbed some ice cream and hotboxed my car out where nobody would find me and it was the goddamn best. like, my whole stash is fucked now but dear god was it worth it. ten out of ten, would do again if it didn't, and I cannot stress this enough, completely and utterly trash my entire stash.

this shit is just downright unsustainable though. I need to get a hobby. like, other than reading because I don't have any more shit to read. video games? never really got into those but it might be nice I guess. whatever. it was a good day today.

 

Sincerely,

still just a little bit high,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

for some reason I've started carrying around this notebook when I go to school, or. yknow. when I don't. and it's just weird I guess because—I mean, the first twenty pages are from like last school year, and I think I was in a phase or something where I just drew eyes on all the margins. it starts out with notes on stuff then it just devolved into three-quarter views of eyes. it's fuckin creepy to look at. but, yeah. the thing is still in good condition I guess besides the eyes thing. maybe it has to do with the paranoia? last year was... not great, mental health-wise. that could be it, I guess?

anyways, here's hoping nobody notices this notebook, or like, takes it and tries to look in it. I already have enough of people looking through my shit at home, don't need to get that started in the ultimate hellhole of hellholes, too.

 

Sincerely,

nervously,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

do you think you and I would've been friends? like I can't imagine ever actually talking to you about some of the stuff I've... technically written to you, but do you think we could have gotten along, before?

I mean there's no goddamn way it'll happen now, I kinda fucked everything up in that department already. you got shoved down in the hallway despite the fact that you have a broken arm and might've fucked it up even worse if you landed weird, and then I stole some weird letter thing from you and disappeared for a few days and now I haven't talked to you or even apologized.

is it too late to give you the letter back now? it kinda feels like it. it's been like a whole week.

or maybe you don't even actually care and me giving it back would be weird, because why would I even keep it, like why would I do that? why would I care about some dumb letter? I'm the kid who threw a printer and everyone thinks is a bad cup of coffee away from shooting up the school.

your friend Jared Kleinman is a fucking asshole by the way, I hope you know that. or he might be your boyfriend, I honestly have no goddamn idea. I know nothing about you.

whatever I should really be taking notes in this class.

 

Sincerely,

calc was invented to torture teens,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

like why would I think that Jared Kleinman is your boyfriend? you clearly wrote about how you like my sister (she's a bitch don't fall for it) in your letter and Jared is just some douchebag who I only saw talking to you like one time and even he didn't sign your cast, like, what? if he was your boyfriend he would've signed it. so he's clearly not right?

right?

I don't know why I care. you probably aren't even gay anyways, like what would the odds even be of that right, like there's no way. also why am I even thinking about it? I should just stop thinking about it, because why should I even care? I shouldn't, is the answer to that question.

why am I still sitting here and writing?

 

Sincerely,

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

the only reason I didn't kill myself an hour ago is because I need to give you that letter back.

I don't know why this matters to me so much all of a sudden.

fuck.

 

Sincerely,

unfortunately,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I've decided we wouldn't be good as friends, like at all. because I'm just a douchebag and you don't deserve a selfish jerk like me. I'm too self-centered to have real friends, and that's why I don't, among other things like my fucked up head.

wow, there I go again! talking about me, me, me! if I could just spend like five minutes not talking about me. that would be great.

you don't deserve someone as shitty as me as a friend. no, fuck. you don't deserve someone shitty as a friend. so I don't get why you hang around Kleinman. he's pretty clearly a dick. he needs to be nicer to you.

or maybe he's actually nice and I'm just projecting how shitty he is to me onto you? fuck, circled back to me again, fucking awesome.

I (fuck) should probably end this letter and, I dunno. sleep? sleep sounds good.

 

Sincerely,

(wait god dammit even the end is self-centered how didn't I notice),

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I made some big steps today. I actually talked to Zoe for once, which is the first big step. the notable part is that we didn't even devolve into yelling. the other notable part is that I did in fact confirm that she sort of knows you I guess, because you're in concert band which is apparently not the same thing as jazz band, which is what she does, but you're not in it anymore because you broke your arm and can't play an instrument with a broken arm. I guess you spend most of the period hanging out around the band rooms now, doing homework or just lurking. she seemed really weirded out by the question but she didn't yell at me or anything, which is... yknow.

we should probably talk more, me and her. she's my only sister. but considering how I was acting last year I shouldn't expect much. apparently I threatened her like, a lot. I think I'm better. I hope I'm better. she isn't obligated to talk to me though.

she deserves a way better brother than me. anyone would.

that isn't me saying she's perfect or anything, because she isn't. mostly I just don't think you should have her on a pedestal like you apparently do? she isn't a goddess or anything, she can be kind of an asshole. but that's the way siblings are most of the time, and it doesn't excuse...

whatever. it's not important.

 

Sincerely,

winner of the shittiest brother competition for almost seventeen years running,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

did you know about this one micro-animal—tartigrades, or "water bears" is another name. apparently they're pretty much immortal. they look pretty gross but that's whatever, the takeaway here is gonna be how fucking rad water bears are.

in my AP Language and Composition class we're supposed to do this essay on some kind of animal, sort of defending it I guess, and I was looking up animals because this is actually a good part of my grade and I want to graduate and get out of this hellhole so I gotta try just a little bit, and I tried to choose tartigrades but my teacher was shitty about it because they're too small or some shit. like, what? why does that matter? they're fucking rad, who cares?

anyways, I'm super bitter about it and I'm gonna write a whole paper on them, like at least eight pages, and it's gonna be fucking awesome and informative as hell and it doesn't even matter if I'm just a tiny bit stoned, or actually like pretty solidly stoned, because that'll just help me with getting all my creative juices going.

that sounds like an innuendo but y'know what, doesn't even matter. all that matters are those good good tartigrades.

this is gonna be awesome.

 

Sincerely,

the segmented micro-animal,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so it may or may not actually be five in the morning because I was writing literally since I got home from school, but this paper is 23 pages over the required number (2) and not to brag but it's the best paper that this class has ever seen. eat your heart out, Alana Beck. you just know that she's gonna show up on revision day with a twenty page paper on some endangered species, but you know what? my paper is the superior paper. this is a masterpiece. this is my magnum fucking opus.

this paper is fucking excellent.

 

Sincerely,

the fucking incredible writer,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

nevermind that paper fucking sucks and I hate it and I definitely can't take it into class because it's awful and rambling and stupid and I hate it and if it wasn't written on a computer I would definitely have burned it. I have APLAC next period and it isn't even due but I don't have the energy to argue about what topic I chose, this is fucking stupid and I'm fucking stupid and everything is fucking stupid and

and here I am, a loner, writing a letter to a kid I don't even know. ha! hahaha! so fucking funny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Sincerely,

a fucking embarrassment,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

i can never show this notebook, these papers, these letters to you because i'm just such a fucking mess and nobody needs to see that. nobody WANTS to see that.

i don't even want to see that.

i'm sorry.

 

Sincerely,

apologetically,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[connor is not a happy boy]]  
> [[edit:: the timing of me posting this chapter is fucking stellar btw considering that moments after i posted it, a friend texted me asking if i was okay because apparently some people thought i had fucking died. so, next up connor will receive millions of dollars cash,]]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[yall are like. really nice. im lov]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I'm writing this from the hospital which sucks. I tried to off myself, y'know, like any idiot could do. but I guess I fucked it up somehow. tried to drown myself in a bathtub, which is just fucking sad. my parents think I fell asleep while bathing or some shit. apparently the bathroom floor got just utterly fucked with the flooding, which apparently Zoe noticed, and I scared the shit out of my mom.

she tries pretty hard for someone who already produced a failure. it's almost funny but mostly just really... not fun to watch.

but anyways, the doctors say I have pneumonia now, which sucks. gonna be out of school for like, a week. luckily nobody searched my bags and found this, that would suck to explain. what would I even say?

anyways, I think I'm gonna try and read or something, someone would get suspicious if I wrote in this too often and I don't wanna use up all the pages in this too quickly and also the doctors got all weird about the scars on my wrists and taped them up even though none of them are even bleeding and the worst are starting to lose their scabs anyways, so moving my hands too much is annoying.

there was a talk about therapy and meds and shit. dad was there though, so, obviously that shit isn't happening, right?

I'm tired. going to sleep. here's hoping they fuck up somehow and kill me while I'm out. well, no, my dad would definitely use some of his lawyers to sue the fuck out of this place and it would just suck for the people who work here. so, not that. here's hoping my body suddenly and unexpectedly disintegrates. sure, that. can't sue someone for a kid randomly disintegrating. that would be a losing battle.

anyways.

 

Sincerely,

lungs still mostly working despite my best efforts,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so the hospital was bullshit and I hate it there but one good thing came out of it I guess—apparently a bunch of people thought I died or something and there was some shit being posted around like, in memoriam or whatever. I think some kids in my AP class were doing a lot of it. so at least I know now that if I disappeared someone would figure it out.

eventually.

anyways, I read some books whenever I wasn't asleep, got high when I was sent home (which probably fucked up my lungs but that was part of the point) and overall didn't do fuckall this past like, three days. still wanna die. I should probably think of a better method for next time.

I should also definitely give you your letter back. or tell you I burned it or some shit.

I should burn this notebook.

anyways.

 

Sincerely,

flipping off everything,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so fuckin shoutout to Alana Beck for writing like fifteen paragraphs copy/pasted across at least three social media sites, all about how mental health is a thing that should be taken more seriously across the board and how big of a deal it is that people get help for stuff like that. or, like this, because I'm like 100% sure she wrote it after hearing the rumors about me just fucking dying.  
so, cool. she had a point.

feels kinda weird though, she doesn't even know me, so what does she even have to write paragraphs about regarding me right?

uh

okay so I just reread that and feel like a hypocrite I'm just gonna

 

Sincerely,

yeah,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

i've gotta do it i've gotta before i chicken out i should already be over there saying something but you look busy he looks busy and there's nobody around anyways so it would be threatening or something and i don't want you to be freaked out but fuck dude i hate this just go over and talk to the idiot he's not an idiot he's probably really smart i don't even know him i don't even know you fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

 

Sincerely,

just gotta get it over with!!!!!!

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

jesus fucking christ thank god I'm good at pretending everything is fine, otherwise I would've probably combusted just then. just burst into big, asocial flames.

you were super fucking nervous which you always are as far as I can tell, and you asked me what happened that caused all the rumors about me fucking dying and all, because clearly they weren't true, and I honestly cannot fucking believe that I sort of straight up told you what I did because literally nobody else knows that I tried to off myself and I tried to be sarcastic about it as if I was joking or something but you absolutely knew I wasn't joking and now you might tell everyone, you might tell your shitty friend Jared who would destroy me because he's a dick and you might tell Zoe and

no you totally won't. you don't even know her, you already said in the letter, and you probably assume that she already knew or whatever so why would you even tell her? you wouldn't do that, no way. no. it'll be fine.

and I asked you about your arm which I had already done in the computer lab that time but I'd forgotten about it like right away and apparently when you fell from the tree nobody came to help you??? what the fuck??? you aren't okay and that's not okay and I hate that I feel like I can relate to that somehow, what.

and I just

now realized that I forgot to actually give you the letter.

fuck.

okay but I guess we're cool now or something which is. wow that actually feels super good. didn't know that would be such a relief. and now Alana Beck is looking at me weird because I'm just grinning in class. probably look high.

fucking whatever dude I just hope we're actually cool and I can stop feeling weird whenever I see you. now maybe I can track you down more easily next time when I try and actually give you the letter like I was supposed to do, the literal point of that.

also you've definitely been avoiding me which was probably annoying to have to do, and I don't blame you or anything it's completely fair, that was just a bad feeling.

but yeah so. hi Evan Hansen.

nice to meet you.

 

Sincerely,

but for real I guess?

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I decidedly do not feel less weird when I see you, but I definitely feel less like, directly bad which is a step up? I mean I haven't really talked to you like at all but when I passed you in the hall the other morning I nodded at you and you smiled back at me and now we like, sort of say hi when we see each other, just kind of me nodding like a dipshit and you smiling back or trying to wave or something which is like. I don't know, man, just.

this is what a friend is, right? maybe? is it close at least?

you seem like a nice person. and you clearly only put up with me because you're nice and all which sucks but is also like, justified. I know I definitely wouldn't nod at me in the hallway or smile at me if we passed each other on the way to class.

I think we have the same lunch on Fridays. maybe I could like. sit with you or something?

wow, that was a terrible fucking idea, there is no way that would end well for me. you'd be so fucking scared. do you even go to lunch? what if other people are there? what if I don't see other people but then they come sit down because they were there before me and we're all stuck there, and what if it's Klienman or something? I don't want that to happen. I seriously do not want that to fucking happen.

whatever it doesn't matter, at least you don't hate me.

probably.

no, you probably do. nevermind on that one, just.

whatever.

 

Sincerely,

your new acquaintance or something,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

dude, Dante's Inferno is the fucking worst. like, this shit is downright stupid, I could barely make it through the thing, the guy is just so fucking self-centered.

"oh i'm gonna write fear-mongering self-insert bible fanfic", like??

fuckin asshole.

 

Sincerely,

Beatrice was too good for that fucker and shouldn't have had to deal with his shit,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so do you like. ever just kinda, start scrolling through Wikipedia and then it's three AM but you can't sleep because you just discovered how many fucking horrifyingly deadly and unfathomable creatures live in our ocean that makes up the majority of the planet?

I guess the more colorful these deep-sea fish are, the more deadly.

Nemo gonna fuck you up by those rules, I guess.

 

Sincerely,

no really the bullet shrimp is awesome as fuck,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

today I saw you in the hall before classes started and we actually sort of had a conversation despite the fact that you opened the conversation by asking me just right off the bat what was in my coffee cup and I answered with "bleach", so that's a miracle probably that you even continued the conversation, and also apparently you seriously need to chill the fuck out. like, I counted, you apologized 38 times. I would offer you weed but you would probably literally die on the spot at even the suggestion of any illegal shit, at all. also seriously you need more clothes than just polo shirts, you are just. asking to get bullied. like it's cute but I seriously doubt that the fuckboys who attend this prestigious shithole would think so too.

but that's rude so I didn't actually say any of that because I need to be less of an asshole to people. I did say some kinda rude shit but you didn't seem offended, you just kinda rolled with it like you totally expected it to happen and like you just automatically figured that you deserved whatever I dished out on you, which is a whole seperate can of worms that we're not gonna talk about because yikes, relatable. you shouldn't do that, I'm pretty sure you've never said anything mean to anyone in your entire life ever. you are the squishiest softest little cotton ball that I have ever met. it is genuinely baffling to me how you can do that. I just end up pushing people.

like... you.

there goes my whole not-shitty mood, way to go, me. gonna skip last period and head home, try and... I don't fuckin know. do something.

yeah, right.

 

Sincerely,

sorry if the bleach thing was creepy or weird I promise it was just espresso with whipped cream,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

when the fuck did you end up as my diary? like, why did I write that water bear thing? and that bullet shrimp thing? I promise I don't have some weird obsession with sea creatures, they're just what keeps showing up on Wikipedia.

jesus, I need a fucking hobby.

 

Sincerely,

not that interested in marine biology I promise,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[connor that's kinda gay....  
> but yeah have a good new year's everyone, stay safe]]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[fuckin' new year or something, i'm going into this new year swingin]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you haven't read any books by Rick Riordan????? the Fuck???????????? like I saw you in the hallway and made some greek mythology joke and you didn't get it and I asked if you'd never read any Percy Jackson and I was???? joking???? I thought literally everyone has read that series?????? it's fucking delightful excuse me?????

anyways I'm bringing the first three books to school and when I see you I'm gonna dump those books on you and you'll read them and it'll be fucking great.

 

Sincerely,

Annabeth is my daughter and I love her,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I didn't exactly "give" you the books so much as I saw you at what's apparently your locker and I just kinda stepped in next to you and dumped them in there and you looked startled and confused but I walked away before you could say anything and I just kinda hoped you got the message.

oh fuck you probably think that I stole them, no I swear they actually belong to me, I have my name written inside them, check the front cover.

how the fuck will you read with a broken arm.

that was not cool of me, fuck, way to go asshole!

no... okay no, you still have one free hand right? like obviously you can read that was a dumb thought.

okay nevermind just. hope you like the books.

 

Sincerely,

to be fair Thalia was a badass too and she deserved more narrative screentime,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you read fast I guess? it's been like a few days and you're through the first two books and were carrying around the third?

gonna bring you the rest of the first series tomorrow. I hope you actually like them and aren't just reading it because I asked you to, and don't hate it and me for making you read them.

guess we'll see??

 

Sincerely,

Mr. D is a delightful asshole,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you like the series!! when I walked over to your locker you noticed me coming and turned around and handed me the books back and asked me if they had the next ones in the library!! so I gave you the last two since I had them both on me to give you but you!! wanted to read more!!

I THINK I MADE A FRIEND

I THINK WE'RE FRIENDS NOW

AHHHHHHHH

 

Sincerely,

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH,

Me

 

* * *

 

so I overheard—wait fuck

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

okay cool. so I was hanging out on my phone and I heard Jared Kleinman laughing really loudly and saw you two talking, and apparently you said something funny, and you guys were walking towards me and I kinda froze up and then you waved at me and I waved back and Jared Kleinman stopped and like.

he asked when we started being friends (AhHhHhHhHh) and you brought up how I lent you those books and Jared Kleinman made some shitty joke again but I literally don't remember what it was because you instantly snapped at him (since when do you have sass dude what) and said that I was really nice.

SINCE WHEN,

DO YOU THINK I'M NICE

jesus christ this week is a rollercoaster this is so fuckin weird, what's the catch, how is anything going good for me?? christ.

anyways Kleinman fucked off after that and you apologized a bunch and mentioned you're almost done with the labyrinth one and scurried off to class or wherever.

so cool, you like them. who's your favorite character? favorite god? do you think Annabeth and Percy should date or nah?

whatever I can ask you once you've read the last one.

 

Sincerely,

hope you're ready for the emotional rollercoaster of the Battle of the Labyrinth,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so today you handed me back the labyrinth one and said I kind of reminded you of Nico di Angelo which is. I don't even know man, like, you don't even know his character twist yet so obviously you didn't know what that meant but. ten out of ten job honestly you don't even know.

you then got all apologetic when I asked how we were similar but apparently you imagine Nico with like longer hair and you figure he would like to paint his nails too and you didn't say shit about how emo he is because you're too polite for that but honestly I fucked it up by calling you Grover in response so

like you said that it was sort of accurate and that you totally hadn't thought of it (which means I'm a fucking idiot obviously) and that you wished you could talk to animals or make trees grow magically (obviously because you're pretty much just Tree Boy).

so yeah. that's another almost-not fucked up conversation for the scrapbook. yippee.

 

Sincerely,

the emo death boy,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

my dad mentioned that I have a college fund. as if I'll live that long. as if I could even get into college if I did live that long. as if I want to go to college. as if I'll graduate high school.

I'm worried that all those things might happen anyways.

 

Sincerely,

but they probably won't,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

isn't it weird how light works?

like, let's imagine that it's nighttime. you're walking around. you look at a house and you can clearly see into their living room through the window, but you hold your hand up to your face and you can't see anything. why can't I see it using the light that's shining from that house? it just seems weird to me. light is supposed to brighten things and let you see, and even though the light is pretty clear, it's not reaching you out there.

now let's say you're in your house and it's nighttime, and you hear a sound outside, and you look out. you can't see out there with your lights on, but whatever it is can see you. that's the opposite of what lights are for. you don't need to see yourself, you need to see everything else, right? we have lights to keep people safe during the night, but it's not safe.

I'm sitting outside on a bench at 2 am on a Sunday night, is why I'm writing about this. there's some party or something going on a block or two down. I can see the lights reflected off some of the houses and I can sort of make out the music. it's pretty much trash, honestly.

but yeah. light is weird. if I'm waving to someone standing in the window of a well-lit room, they can't see me. they don't know I'm even there. and if they turn the light off, there's the possibility that neither of us would see each other in the dark.

 

Sincerely,

waving with both hands,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[thanks to everyone who keeps waving back at me]]


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[let my boy rest]]

  
Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so you liked the books I guess. you rambled for a little while about how cool Annabeth is (yeah honestly) and how Luke was tragic (fair enough) and how the whole running theme about absent or shitty parents hit pretty hard (you have no goddamn idea).

the highlight of my day though was seeing Jared Kleinman fucking sulk because you weren't paying attention to him. it was pretty funny. he looked like, personally offended. and I whipped out the sarcastic nickname "Jared Kleinstein" and he got real annoyed because what the fuck can you do to the name Connor Murphy that's clever? so that felt pretty good.

what nicknames could I make with your last name? Evan... broken-Handson. no that's fuckin stupid. I'm blanking here to be honest. the only thing coming to mind is Evan Handsome which isn't even an insult and I would literally die if I said it out loud because No, Not The Time, Do Not Blow This For Us. Evan... Manson. that's literally just a different last name, fuck where did my wordplay talent go? Evan, Damn Son. that's funny but not an insult. First name? Even. Seven. Van. Vinnie. Nave (just your name backwards) sounds like Knave, a super old insult. How about Nosnah Nave? that just sounds like a Lord of the Rings character, fuck, you're immune too. it doesn't matter, I probably shouldn't insult you anyways, you would die on the spot.

 

Sincerely,

your fellow immune-to-name-demolishing buddy,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I skipped tuesday because Fuck Tuesday honestly and I don't know if this happened like, monday night or what, but apparently you got your cast off which is chill. the thing is though, you also didn't talk to me like at all today and were talking to Kleinman when I passed you in the hall and didn't wave at me, and it might just be because you didn't see me which is totally fair y'know? or you just didn't feel up to it which is also totally fair because you totally don't like, owe me anything

but also it got me thinking that maybe you were only talking to me because I signed your cast and because it would be weird if you didn't talk to the one person who signed you cast right? like that would be weird and people would ask you about it and think you were an asshole or something.

but now you got it off so you don't feel bad for me anymore, so you don't need to talk to me anymore, so you don't have to keep pretending to care and keep pretending to like the shitty books that I lent you and you don't have to keep acting like you want to actually talk to me! don't need to keep talking to me lit of pity or whatever, which is pretty shitty! I mean, fuck you! like, I was doing my best here, I haven't had a real friend since like middle school and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and you KNEW that because I fucking SAID to you, "Oh now we can both pretend we have friends" like an IDIOT, I shouldn't have said that, because now you can talk shit about me! because now you can tell everyone what a lonely, stupid ASSHOLE I am because we aren't even friends anymore and why should you care! why would you care about a dumb, insensitive, creepy, douchey LOSER like ME!?!?!!!

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I fucked up the notebook a little bit with that, uh... scribbling thing. a few pages behind it got trashed, and the bottom half of that page is pretty much tatters now. I had to cut off the bottom half or so of it, and like three of the pages behind it. uh. I did write "sincerely blah blah me", also. some shit along the lines of "go fuck yourself" in the middle, I don't remember that well. I kinda lost it.

I don't think that you're gonna talk shit about me. I mean, you wouldn't be the first or last person to, and I bet you probably wanna. but I still have your letter, and I don't think you want me to like. out you on that front.

I don't think that I'm going to school tomorrow, I don't usually go anyways, I was just. excited to have a friend that I could see there I guess.

you're a very good actor, Evan Hansen, you really had me fooled there for a minute. I bet Kleinman put you up to it or something. maybe Zoe made you pretend, too. maybe she thought it would make me happy, and make me not want to die.

it did half of those things.

I don't have much else to say here, I just wanted to... I don't know what I wanted to do. I don't know what I want to do now, either.

 

Sincerely,

you got me good,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I decided to go back to school today since I already skipped twice this week and mom is naggy.

zoe actually waited up and drove me to school. she's playing some weird indie shit on the radio and not talking to me like she usually does. at least she's not complaining that I smell like weed, which is only because I haven't refilled my stash since I fucked it over with the hotboxing thing. oh yeah, dad took my car keys from me after he found it stinking like a motherfucker. so I've been walking to school. that's been shitty.

but Zoe is like, a solid driver. I remember one time like, a week before her driver's test, she asked me to drive her to get fast food because literally nobody else would because mom was on another weird food kick and dad was busy and friends were busy, but anyways we got the food and I drove us to this big abandoned lot and I told her to get behind the wheel. she was real confused but she did and I told her to fucking floor it and then she started asking questions.

basically my rule of thumb is that you can't drive a car until you know just how fast the car can start going. you need to know the limits of the thing you're using before you really understand it.

so I was like, "whatever she'll maybe push ninety before she gets freaked out and stops" and I was pretty sure that the first real drift would be the last, but she drove us to the end of the lot and adjusted her seatbelt and fucking FLOORED it and I honestly don't know how fast we ended up going but she was fuckin' drifting and doing donuts and my tires got so super fucked but we were going at least a hundred minimum at some points. it was intense.

so we finished up with that and I almost lost my voice in the process because we were both laughing and screaming so loudly, and she looked REAL fuckin' tired by the end of it, and I drove her home and she passed her driver's test first try.

she's careful about the speed limit still, which is fair. I just kept wondering for like, months after that, what had her with that much pent-up energy, y'know? like I'm the bad influence, I'm the person who pitches the bad ideas so everyone else feels more confident with sharing because it can't be as bad as mine, right? I'm the one who's learned to floor the gas before I even turn the key, because I know I'm gonna fuck up, and I might as well go all out while I'm doing it, right? but in this metaphor, I haven't refilled the tank in a long time. there's no more gasoline left but I just keep going and going, and maybe one day I'll

shit we're at school gotta put this away.

 

Sincerely,

running on fumes,

Me

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you talked to me this morning? you said hello and mentioned the library had the next Percy Jackson books?

why are you still talking to me? you're free, man. run while you can before I get overattached again.

 

Sincerely,

as clingy as ever,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

this weekend I guess there's some kind of "big game" or something. a lot of people are going to be there to support the team. Kleinman mentioned that he's gonna try and pawn off some old school merch to the student section when I saw you guys. apparently you don't plan on going because, quote, "C-crowds are just, um, um a thing I don't like doing haha like I don't like them". so you're not going I guess, you're just gonna stay home or whatever.

that makes two of us.

today had been an ordeal though, let me fucking tell you. that monolith I wrote earlier, finding out that you don't hate me I guess because you keep talking to me for some goddamn reason, and at least three fistfights I just narrowly fucking escaped starting because jesus christ the sophomore class is annoying. what are they even doing?

I almost asked you if you wanted to hang out since we both weren't doing anything but Kleinman was right there and an asshole and Zoe started yelling at me to hurry the fuck up because she decided to drive me home. I think mom is making her be nicer to me. I literally can't think of any other explanation for it, so.

so my weekend is gonna fucking suck, without weed or keys or anything. I guess I can steal Zoe's keys and go get more ice cream or something. see if it's half as good when sober.

fun, fun, fun.

 

Sincerely,

social events are shit,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so the ice cream place is like three miles away from this empty parking lot thing that I always assumed was for some kind of nature preserve or something, but I went to park in there (took my mom's car not Zoe's because Zoe had hers) and apparently it was this place our family went to a lot. they had all these trees and shit and they grew apples and I almost didn't recognize it but the sign was still sort of up.

so it's like two in the afternoon on a saturday and I'm laying in a big field that was like, a hundred yards from the lot, and I'm writing this. you know that like, saying, about the "october sky" or what the fuck ever? I gotta say that late september is pretty good too. there's a few clouds and stuff and luckily one is right in front of the sun right now because it was kind of getting in my eyes, but it I look straight up I can't see any of the trees or grass or anything. it just ends up as this big ceiling of blue and cotton.

but I ended up freaking myself out a little with it, though. because there's so much more out behind the sky than there'll ever be on the ground. it's just so... big. so stupidly, impossibly big, the universe is so massive.

but we're the only people we've found in it so far.

I hope we find aliens, or intelligent life, or unintelligent life, anything. anything that proves that we might not be alone out here. something that proves that there's something else to find and learn about. when I was a kid I always wanted to live to see us meeting some other beings. I don't think that it'll happen, though.

I still hope that we find something out there. it won't make the sky seem any smaller, but maybe it'll feel a little less empty?

I'm using this notebook to hide from it for a little bit. I think I'm gonna... just look for a little while. fall asleep maybe. rest. it's been a little while since I've done that. you know how sometimes you get to a point where you're only sleeping because you have to? where your only choices are sleeping or falling unconscious anyways? it's been like that a lot. I haven't slept just to rest for a long time, really. this seems like a good time for it, though.

 

Sincerely,

the sky just doesn't seem to end,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[still on tumblr @thetriggeredhappy and still not straight]]


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[this chapter is just riddled with references to shit from my real life because writing for these kids got me all reminiscent]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

apparently the fall play this year is "Is He Dead?" by Mark Twain which is actually pretty damn good. I remember one time during one of the Rich People Parties that my parents used to make me and Zoe go to before I ended up as an embarrassment, there was this dinner and a show charity thing and this theater troupe performed some stuff and they performed this specific show. it was pretty solid but also will require like, some good comedic timing, which I don't quite trust this high school with. Mr. Ranger is a good drama teacher but can only do so much.

did you know I actually used to do theater back in freshman year? my dad made me quit after he saw me in the chorus during the musical. it boiled down to him being scared that it wasn't a "straight man's hobby" and he didn't want it "getting to me". he didn't want it to turn me gay basically.

got some real bad fuckin news for ya then, dad.

 

Sincerely,

it was "Newsies" by the way and even as a freshman I was stupidly tall,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

dude I have some goddamn questions for you right now.

because you mentioned that Kleinman isn't actually your friend, more of a "family friend", which sounds fake as hell by the way, and he only hangs out with you to make his mom happy, and he uses it as leverage to get his car insurance payed for, right?

but then why is he around you so much, and why isn't he like, even sort of actually nice to you when he IS there?

am I missing something here? is he secretly like your ex or something? are you accomplices in some murder? does he have blackmail on you and that's why you hang out with him? I could kick his ass if you want. honestly I just wanna punch him at this point and would feel bad if you didn't say it was okay because we're friends now or some approximation.

just sayin', I got like a solid foot on the guy and I'm like way faster than he is, I would win. just sayin'. I know a big field and decaying orchard where I could totally bury the body and nobody would ever know. just sayin'.

 

Sincerely,

contemplating the death of Kleinman rather than myself,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

holy shit Kleinman is still playing Pokémon Go I cannot fucking believe this.

I had that game like a year ago but christ dude it's been out for so goddamn long how is he not bored with it yet? I didn't know it was even still a thing like, at all?

move on, man.

 

Sincerely,

also he's fucking Valor like what,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

okay so tuesdays are the worst days of the week.

let's break the week down, from friday backwards. on fridays you don't do shit, ever. it's friday. thursday is practically friday and you have time to figure out what you want to do over the weekend. wednesday is the middle of the week, you're like halfway done with it.

but tuesday? the worst. at least on monday you can do that overused "case of the mondays" shit and complain and stuff but on tuesday you have the entire goddamn week ahead of you and no excuse.

and holidays! you get shit like "labor day" and "veterans day" and shit on mondays most of the time and you can miss school, and thanksgiving break starts on wednesday every year, but fuck you if it's a tuesday. even snow days never happen on tuesdays, have you noticed that? mondays and fridays, maybe thursday if you're super lucky, but never tuesday, tuesday fucking sucks.

I hate tuesday. there's a reason I like to skip tuesday.

 

Sincerely,

fuck tuesday,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I know this is probably super weird and creepy of me but you haven't been to school in like two days and I'm getting super worried. because you didn't seem sick or anything when I saw you last, you just aren't here all of a sudden, and tomorrow Saturday so I won't even know if you're okay or not for another two days and I'm just worried that you're getting harrassed for talking to me or something. because even fucking Kleinman isn't talking to me now which is weird because usually he would at least sass me or something when he sees me but he hasn't been doing like anything and it's freaking me out.

I hope you're okay.

 

Sincerely,

please be okay,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so Zoe has this party thing tonight and is riding over with some friends from jazz band or something and while she was waiting to leave we had like, a whole conversation. I guess juniors are dealing with a lot of shit right now because a lot of colleges shifted the application requirements for people starting in their grad year, so a lot of schedules are getting fucked as kids try and get their required courses. I'd feel bad but I'm a senior and I've been through that shit already so mostly I was just telling her a few things I've heard from teachers and stuff about college apps.

did you know that we have three actual art classes in this school? we have art 1, art 2, and black + white photography. i'm not kidding, those are the only three art classes offered here. and the photography class is only held every other year or so because most of the time not enough kids sign up to justify the big dent it makes in the arts budget.

that's so fucking bullshit. what about the kids who want to be art majors? how are they supposed to compete with people who have the time and money to do other classes outside of school? what if I wanted to be an art major? I mean I don't because I don't care about college but what if, you know?

and how are people supposed to be able to pick out their schedule starting freshman year to be able to compete and get into college as the major they want to be for the job they eventually want to have? fuckers are like 14 and need to make choices to decide the rest of their lives. it's such bullshit, y'know?

that actually made me realize that I have no idea what you want to do in college. tree science? conservation and shit maybe. save the trees. make a living reversing the damage that corporations are doing.

whatever it's just bullshit is all I'm saying.

 

Sincerely,

let kids be kids,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

today is monday, the first of Halloween Month, and I hope you're ready for me to reach my full power and potential because it is fucking happening.

I now bleed candy corn and my only form of hydration will come in apple cider or from a fucking goblet. this is going to be awesome.

 

Sincerely,

the day of the dead is the only day I am truly alive,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so the whole damn conversation started with Kleinman walking over all "you should just ask Murphy, he's in AP English too," so I was geared up to die from the beginning which was lucky. I mean obviously you wouldn't think I was in an AP class because they're kind of competitive but also I'm the best student in the class besides Alana Beck (obviously because she's fuckin... Nicola Tesla. or something. sure let's stick with that).

but then there was this whole bit where you and Kleinman were just standing in front of me talking about me but not like, TO me which was pretty funny to watch, and it boiled down to "if he's in the class too then why can't i just ask him" "why would he help you" "because he's not a jerk" "is he even any good at writing though" back and forth and back and forth for like literally five minutes before I had to step in like "what the fuck do you guys even want" because I have shit to do.

but apparently there's something about an essay and college stuff so you need help proofreading or something, so you asked if I could meet after school and Kleinman.

fucking. Kleinman.

he just INSTANTLY hit us with those "you two gonna bang or what" jokes but apparently you're used to it so you changed the game, right? you just suggested something different. you asked if I could go to your house to work on it and he's like "you two gonna bang or what!" and you're like "OKAY WHATEVER, CAN I JUST HAVE YOUR NUMBER" "you two gonna bang or what!!" "YOUR EMAIL!" "YOU TWO GONNA BANG OR WHAT!!"

so that was hilarious but unfortunately led to me writing my number on your arm before it could escalate.

which in hindsight approximately ten minutes later seemed more like a "hitting on you" thing and made me sit bolt upright in calc which got me some real weird looks from like everyone sitting near me.

I promise I wasn't intentionally hitting on you or anything, I totally wouldn't hit on you, like even though you're like super nice and pretty smart and in general just really

nope stopping that train of thought and tearing up the tracks because I am not doing this, fuck no. not the time. fuck off, entire brain.

whatever I just gotta worry about not starting any text to you with the words "Dear Evan Hansen"

holy shit I still didn't give you your letter back I genuinely forgot about that, jesus christ. do you even remember that? was this whole thing a setup to try and covertly ask me for the letter back and it just went over my head?

no that's stupid of course not.

but what if it was?

fuck.

 

Sincerely,

god I'm definitely gonna fuck this up aren't I?

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ft. that whole bit about art classes is just a true thing about my freshman year before i changed schools. im not kidding, it was a big part of why i switched.  
> kudos and comments are my lifeblood]]


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[a shorter chapter than usual because the tree bros are Fuckin Happening]]

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

Evan Dancin'. my. main man-sen. Evan Emancipation Proclima-sen. Evannnnn Handy Man. Evan the Man Hansen. Evan Carameldansen.

nope.

 

Sincerely,

your name is still immune,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you texted me to make sure the number was right. I guess you forgot or something. but yeah everything is chill and you apologized like twenty times for your typing being weird because you have an "off-brand phone" which isn't even a big deal honestly. I have zero opinion at this point about the whole apple vs android or whatever debate. I do not care. as long as I can play my shitty music and text people I do not give a shit.

well, no, I like being able to look shit up too, but. not much of a difference as far as I know.

anyways, now I have your name in my contacts as "Evan" with like every tree or leaf-like emoji. might change it to "tree boy". jury is still out. we'll see.

 

Sincerely,

you can be tree boy and I can be weed boy,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

tomorrow apparently I'm going over to your house after school to help with those papers and I may or may not be freaking the fuck out because I have no idea what the protocol is. also your typing is shit. do you just not have autocorrect or...?

nope that's rude and exactly what I CAN'T do when I show up at your place of residence. the worst part is that I'm trying to kick my weed habit partially because access to my car relies on it, and also I don't want to get you in trouble by making your house smell like pot, so I can't even chill the fuck out with that. fucking awesome.

whatever I guess I'll just go drive around. ice cream and big empty field sitting sound pretty good right about now.

 

Sincerely,

I don't know how having a friend works, does anybody have a map, fuck,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

okay so I just realized I can't bring this to school because I'll be going to your house right after school and I can't have this on my person while I'm at your house because what if you find it like that would be so fucking creepy of me, so instead I'm leaving this here at home and not having it for the entire day which fucking sucks because I always have this in my bag but I literally can't now.

but then I got to thinking, what if I just have a little notepad that I jot some stuff down in until I get back in here again? then I just kinda... transfer it over here! it'll be totally fine, and I'll look super professional if I just pull a notepad out and start jotting notes down while I'm over at your house! that will be totally fine!

maybe if I keep saying it with little exclaimation points after it, it'll make it true!!!!!!!

 

Sincerely,

soon in a smaller format,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I'm just gonna fuckin write directly what I have scribbled down because I do not have the energy to analyze what all just went down so here we fuckin go

 

woooo off to school

totally forgot that i need to turn in my project on waterbears today oops

"oh no sorry i forgotttt"

how'd she fuckin buy that

cafeteria is shit

you are apparently in cafeteria. or, to use your words, the "cageteroa". open your goddamn eyes while typing hansen

i think you're asking me to meet you in the cageteroa so this should be interesting

you actually drink the chocolate milk they give us what the fuck

"what are you writing" "uh just some reminder stuff" way to fucking go me, now he expects you to carry this around all the time

that's actually less obvious than the notebook tho so this might be a blessing in disguise. so cool

i fucking hate calc it's bullshit and i don't want to be heeeeere

gotta go get in my fucking car and drive to your house now. except maybe you take the bus and will get there after me and i'll be waiting on the doorstep like a creeper when you get there and one of your neighbors will call the cops on me and i'll get arrested and you'll never get those essay things done because i can't help you in actual fucking jail because i'm practically 18 so they might as well

you don't have a ride home i guess so my time to shine as a driver

i did not shine as a driver and almost crashed the car. fuck

your house is way better than mine, it looks like people actually live here and like. aren't allergic to themselves

you keep getting up to go grab stuff like water or whatever why are you such a good host now i just feel like an asshole

i should invite you over

well fuck that idea i should not invite you over you would die my family is fucking insane

i should invite you over anyways because you probably won't accept the invite because you're so nervous all the time

way to be manipulative, me. fucking stellar.

i wanna die but not not specifically because you would be real upset and nervous and probably die

same but stop [editor's note, this bit was in response to a longggg train of "i'm sorry"/"it's cool"s. we literally did about ten. i said you apologize a lot and you were just quiet for like twenty seconds before i called you out on wanting to apologize. who the fuck hurt you hansen like seriously you are too good for this world]

dear evFUCK IT'S MUSCLE MEMORY NOW I CANT STOP IT

you write pretty well but you need to distinguish a bit better between where full stops should happen and where commas should happen. like it's an interesting writing technique but you aren't doing it on pur

how about saying it aloud you fucking moron. way to go. idiot. shut the fuck up.

why are you so nice to me what the fuck

YOU ALMOST SAW MY NOTEPAD I SHOULD NOT BE SITTING THIS CLOSE TO YOU

WHY WAS I SITTING THAT CLOSE ANYWAYS WHO DID THAT WAS IT YOU OR ME

I HOPE IT WAS YOU

THAT COULD NOT HAVE BEEN WORDED CREEPIER, I JUST MEAN THAT I DONT WANT TO  UNINTENTIONALLY INTRUDE ON YOUR SPACE, AND IT'S COOL THE OTHER WAY AROUND BECAUSE YOU CAN GET IN THE PERSONAL BUBBLE IT'S FINE

NO THAT SOUNDS WORSE I JUST MEAN I DONT CARE ABOUT MY BUBBLE

FUCK

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFCUKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFCK

[editor's note: what a fucking time for my dumb idiot brain to decide to have a fucking crush or whatever this is stupid as hell and NOT GOING TO LAST OR I WILL CHUG CLOROX I SWEAR TO GOD]

hey me, wanna chill the fuck out for a second?

yeah, sure me.

thanks, me.

sincerely, me.

FUCK

hi so you need to stop with that self-deprecating shit right the fuck now i will actually fight you in the name of your honor

been line half an hour since i wrote in this but it's fineeeeee i'm totally fineeeeeeeee

fuck. off brain

i want to be asleep

i want to be eating food

so you mentioned pizza but then seemed nervous about the whole ordering thing so i decided to do the calling and getting of the pizza and stuff for you and i have never seen someone more relieved over not talking to people in my entire life so thanks for that gift Evan Hansen, World's Most Relatable Man, trademark trademark trademark

you probably don't want me to be here either. i'm probably stressing you out or something.

so i apologized for getting your papers all wet because my water had condensation and whatever on the outside and the papers are all damp and you looked so fuckin flustered i don't even know what's going on but i am getting concerned

haha you asked if you were keeping me for too long in a whole panic about my folks missing me or something hahaha funny like that has ever happened in my life ever

why. are you apologizing for my shitty home life??

pizza is here.

paid for the pizza since you deserve some kind of monetary gain for putting up with me honestly

so i just realized we've been watching youtube videos on my laptop for the past half an hour and eating pizza instead of doing essays with no sign of stopping

apparently your mom is getting off work soon so this is probably a good time for me to leave i guess because you definitely don't want your mom mad because you're hanging out with such a bad influence

note to self: watch the rest of the "important videos" playlist on youtube as soon as physically possible

[editor's note: fucking excellent series of videos. distracted me from finishing this transfer.]

in my car and i actually literally spent like four hours at your house with like half of it just doing random shit. holy hell. you are a cool person and i am so goddamn sorry i'm like this.

 

so that was that, cool. not sure how I survived that ordeal.

oh god now I need to see you at school tomorrow though.

fuck.

 

Sincerely,

sorry I ate like most of the pizza by the way,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[gonna try a weekly update schedule i think because life is meaningless chaos but i should probably have structure anyways]]


	8. Chapter 8

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

I definitely made too many "I wanna die" comments while I was over didn't I? and I bet you were just super annoyed with me for getting off topic like that, you didn't say anything but I could just feel it. and I ate like most of the pizza and my writing tips were probably dumb pretentious bullshit and...

oh god. oh god I left my sweatshirt at your house. oh god I'm a fucking idiot, now I need to text you to ask for it back and

fuck it's like three AM there's no way you'll even notice the text in time to bring it to school and I don't want to wake you up or anything oh shit.

and also it would be so weird of me to text at three in the fucking morning on a thursday. you would think I'm such a weirdo, like an even bigger one than you currently think I am.

fuck.

I can ask for it back when I see you tomorrow it's fine it's whatever. I don't care. it'll be fine. I have more than one sweatshirt and I'm too attached to that one anyways it's TOTALLY FINE.

 

Sincerely,

it's not my fucking blankie and I'm not a fucking toddler I can DEAL,

Me

 

* * *

 

DEAR EVAN HANSEN,

 

JUST SAW YOU THIS MORNING AND YOU ARE WEARING MY SWEATSHIRT AND I THINK I AM GOING TO IMPLODE AND DIE

IT IS ADORABLE

YOU ARE ADORABLE

AND KLEINMAN IS GONNA HAVE A FUCKING FIELD DAY

 

SINCERELY,

ARE YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING AROUND WITH,

ME

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

apparently you wore my

fuck okay I needed a second there because literally just thinking about it I cannot function. fuck.

apparently you wore my sweatshirt (FUCK) because it was a handful and you didn't have room in your bag and didn't want to drop it or whatever and it would help you remember, but you had your bag on and stuff and I didn't need you stripping in the middle of the hall or whatever, so I told you to just give it back at the end of the day and I am so proud of myself for the poker face I had. all nonchalant. playin it cool. what a fuckin pro.

it is actually legitimately fucking massive on you by the way. you had little sweater paws. I am going to fucking tear up and cry in my AP class because I am just astounded by how one person can be so adorable. you are adorable. I didn't think it was possible but you somehow got more adorable.

oh

wait.

oh fuck.

oh fuck oh no.

ohhhhhhhh no this is bad.

oh fuck. this is really fucking bad. this can't be happening.

I just realized something and I don't even know if I should write it down because maybe I'm wrong and writing it down would just make it more true and totally fuck me over.

no there's no margin for error here, I totally have an actual literal crush like a fucking middle schooler right now. on a dude who hates ordering pizza and doesn't know how to spell "necessary" and can't type right because he has shaky anxious hands and those hands are also sweater paws and I am not talking myself out of this in any way, FUCK.

Alana Beck now is not the time to be giving me weird looks from the seat to my left, I am having a big ol' Gay Moment.

okay like. let's look on the bright side. I knew I was gay already. so... could be worse.

ohhh okay Alana Beck just got startled because she didn't know I was ambidextrous and that's why she was looking at me. okay so my Big Gay Epiphany isn't that obvious. poker face still going strong.

nevermind she also called me out on my expression. thanks Alana Beck. fuck you Alana Beck.

no she's nice I shouldn't say that

fuck though

fuck

 

Sincerely,

how do I even approach this shit Evan Hansen? why did you do this?

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

in your college app scholarship essays a few of them you only had the opening lines of them, and a few were just story-based and you pretty much just told the story of you falling out of the tree, but... you didn't like, take it and copy/paste and shift it around. you wrote it over and over again, slightly different every time, with different misspelled or weirdly-punctuated sentences on each so you actually literally typed it out every individual time which is...

okay so when I get super distressed about stuff I sometimes end up just writing the same phrases or words over and over again and... dude, this feels kind of like that. I think it must've fucked you up pretty bad.

but also there was a short snippet of one of the unfinished ones you told me not to worry about, but I flipped through them anyways because sometimes conceptually works need help, and you started writing this thing for a prompt about "How you find motivation each and every day!" (which is honestly the most annoying prompt in the world like we can't all be neurotypical karen)

but like, you started writing something about how your therapist (didn't know about that detail of your life by the way, like honestly good on you though for having the patience for that, therapy fucking sucks from my experience. I hated that shit) has you write these letters to yourself, and I was already on edge with it because the letter is supposed to start with "Dear Evan Hansen" and be about how this is going to be a great day and like, reasons why it will. but your letter wasn't like that at all. it was pretty much the opposite of that. like, I hope I've been able to help you have better days, at least.

I mean, writing letters to Evan Hansen appears to be helping me out a lot, at least. they aren't "today's going to be a good day and here's why", more me just saying things as I think of them, stream-of-consciousness. I don't think that just writing a positive letter and faking confidence would actually help, like at all. it would just make me feel worse I think, but then again I remember this thing I was reading, how positive self-talk (never met her, who's she?) actually helps because the brain is built on patterns and it makes it more likely that you'll think something good later on. but also bottling shit up is a bad idea. from someone who does it, don't. it sucks. find an outlet and make people pry it from your cold dead hands. 

I just hope it's starting to help you, whatever way you write these letters. I just want you to not be broken like I am, because this shit sucks.

 

Sincerely,

broken and wrong and wanting to prevent it from happening to anyone else,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

when I was like twelve I remember the shitty fuckin sixth grade teacher hated me. and I mean HATED me. I was a "problem child" by then, but I never even did anything to her. but she sent me to the principal's office because I kept bouncing my leg. nobody else was bothered by it. she just thought it looked silly and wanted me to stop. I tried to explain that I'm not doing it consciously, but she wouldn't have it. so she sent me in because one day I was freaked out and kept bouncing my leg and she got tired of it.

I still bounce my foot a little, but mostly broke that habit around the time I started weed. now my problem is my hands shaking.

like every time I go to hand someone something or for a handshake or raise my hand, fucking anything, I'm always like "oh shit I hope my hands aren't shaking" and of course they started shaking once I got nervous about them shaking and I try and keep them in my pockets but it just doesn't stop and I can't think of anything else but my stupid shaky hands. and I know sometimes people will be like "dude your hands are shaking" and I wanna go "OH SHIT NO WAY REALLY" but I can't admit that they do this so instead I go "yeah I drank a bit too much coffee I think" otherwise they think I'm on fuckin crack or something. and one time it was like spring and my mom saw my hands shaking so she made me put on a bunch of layers because she thought I must be cold and I was sweaty all goddamn day and my hands didn't stop shaking.

I feel like you're the one person I know who wouldn't judge me for this, because you're just as much of an emotional mess as I am. just... trying to rehearse what I want to say, I think, if at some point we're hanging out and you call me out on it.

fuck I can't say any of this can I?

nevermind

 

Sincerely,

my handwriting sucks as a result of shaky hands if that was some kind of mystery you wanted to solve,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

you're nervous when you talk to people, because you're like, worried about fucking up and them hating you, while I'm nervous talking to people because I never know who's out to get me and who'd rat on me to my parents if I told them something important. 

when I was twelve, I had a shitty IPod Touch, right, like those not-phones that couldn't call or text anyone but did everything else just fine? well I had one, and my parents were super against me having an account on literally any social media site because... I don't even know, like, keeping me from leaking personal information? from oversharing? from people who (horrified gasp) say adult words like hell? whatever, but they had a big problem with it.

but we live far away from people, and I couldn't get any other kind of social interaction because Zoe was always with friends being good at everything, so I got one. just some instagram. I didn't put my name on it, didn't put my face on it, and didn't put my location on it. I was careful.

a few times I talked shit about them, but mostly it was me being emo as fuck to people online. I got sympathy. I got some kind of conversation. back then I still drew a little, and got some validation from that. but mostly it was just a way to keep myself distracted. I figured out I had something wrong with be besides anger issues around that time.

my parents took my IPod and broke into it and looked through everything I had, and they yelled at me for talking shit about them.

not how I said I wanted to die multiple times. not the post where I showed bandages and admitted to cutting myself. just the one or two posts where I talked shit about them, because they were being fucking rude to people and god knows arguing with them is impossible, so I used a faceless account that nobody cared about and complained.

they took everything. that's the first time they stripped my room completely bare. I kept about half of my clothes, my bed minus everything except the pillow and blanket, and the drapes on the window. everything was just gone, and I was supposed to "earn them back" by "being good". I was twelve years old. I had thoughts and feelings and opinions, Hansen. I was a fucking person, not a dog, but it felt about the same to me.

there was the summer where they took my door. I didn't sleep in the house when they did that. I took a sleeping bag and went somewhere that was sheltered in case it rained and I slept out there. after two or three weeks they finally agreed to give the door back, but only because I was driven home by a sympathetic cop about ten miles out from home, who thought I'd gotten lost or something. they just didn't want the cops involved.

I'm paranoid because I have to be, Evan Hansen. that's why I have this notebook on me at all times, and if it's at home, it's behind a big container in my bathroom cabinet beneath the sink. I learned how to hide things, because somehow they thought that it would take less effort deconstructing my carefully constructed walls of privacy than it would just fucking communicating with me. and I can't unlearn thinking like that.

maybe you have a chance to get better, though. I hope so. I really do.

 

Sincerely,

always glancing back over my shoulder,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[my boy has feelings]]


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[me, waking from a brief hibernation and checking the date: oh shit. rip]]

  
Dear Evan Hansen,

 

holy shit I just realized.

if I have a crush on you......... that means that I'm...............

PINING for the TREE BOY

HEYOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Sincerely,

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so... I've decided to sign up for this writing competition thing. it's just some local like, "get your name in the newspaper and a certificate and shit" kind of deal, but... I dunno. the APLAC teacher keeps bringing it up to me when I'm leaving class, and Alana Beck mentioned that I should do it, so... I dunno though, I don't really write anything but dumb wordplay things and like, poetry assignments for class. I mean I'm good at it, but I just don't to it much. or, I think I'm good at it?

but anyways, there was this assignment about like, writing a few poems of different styles in like freshman year and I looked through it and the teacher wrote a bunch of notes about how good it was, and that she was impressed and stuff? so I'm compiling those and making little illustrations. did you ever read Shel Silverstein? it's kinda like that I guess. I just... I need a hobby.

since Alana Beck is the only person in my APLAC class who talks to me or shows me any amount of concern whatsoever (just so she can write on her college apps about how she helped out this psycho in her class probably, right?), so I'm gonna ask her to look it over for me when I'm done.

it's just... I'm just really tired. not as much sleep, going to school pretty consistently now, and I haven't gotten any real amount of high for a good few weeks. I know it's October which is my favorite month, and it's really great and I'm psyched whenever I get to just chill outside and crush dry leaves and stuff, but being all pumped only makes me tired faster.

whatever it's just. a thing. I'll update you on it later. maybe even tell you for real.

 

Sincerely,

here's to hope,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

today, a sunday, I woke up and the house was empty. I cannot possibly express how rare that is. if my dad isn't at home working in the office and taking calls, then Zoe's right next door. if she's not home and she's out with friends or at band practice, then mom is doing... whatever hobby she's temporarily picked up. but I guess she's started taking some kind of yoga class like half an hour away from here and she's not home. it's just me.

and the first thing I thought when I realized that was "if I tried to die again then maybe they wouldn't find me and get me to a hospital in time.

and I thought I was getting better, I really did. I've been going to school, and haven't smoked for almost a week, and worked on homework, and I get out of bed in the morning on the first or second alarm. I was getting better, and I don't even think that I want to. 'cuz getting better means sticking around, and struggling to pull myself back up all the way I've fallen, and I know that I won't make it. I just won't. I'll end up right back here again, stuck and angry and with nowhere to run.

but you said "see you tomorrow" when I left school today, and I said it back, and... you don't deserve me doing that to you. that would be wrong. and I still have your letter.

what do I do, Evan Hansen? what did you do to me? why are you making me stay here?

if I was able to hate you, I would. but I can't.

 

Sincerely,

only because I promised I would see you tomorrow,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

people say it gets better but nobody ever explains how, or when, or for who, or thanks to who, and I'm starting to thing that it doesn't. that it doesn't get better, that those people got lucky and we only hear that phrase because the people who it didn't get better for didn't live to call them out.

and I don't deserve for things to get better, I haven't earned it, I haven't tried to fix myself or make someone's day brighter. I'm a selfish piece of shit and I can only do things for the sake of instant gratification, because I can't commit to anything for a long time because I won't live that long anyways, so what's the fucking point?

you shouldn't have to deal with this, but life was apparently unfair enough that I'm the only option you have left, and the second anyone else notices how good you are, I'll be dropped on the side of the road. it'll happen any minute now and I wouldn't even blame you, because I don't want to be around me either, I just have to either off myself or fucking deal with it.

everything hurts and half the time I don't even know why. maybe it's having to put up with myself finally getting to me. maybe it's my head trying to get rid of everything bad, just like an immune system does for diseases, except I AM the disease. I'm a cancer on my family, on the school, on you. if I was gone maybe you would all finally get to be happy.

maybe... I can stick it out at least until you find someone else to keep you company. it'll happen soon anyways, I just know it.

the most selfish part is that I don't want it to. how cruel is can I get?

 

Sincerely,

temporarily,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

ever since you wore my jacket on thursday I've been writing in this a whole lot. guess I've just had a lot of feelings since then. which, gross. feelings.

but this morning I saw you and I was pretty tired because sleep doesn't happen for me very well usually, but then I got in a conversation with you and Kleinman about how you might actually be the most muscled dude out of the three of us, then you and Kleinman made a bet that I couldn't lift you and you had like ten dollars on me being able to do it so like, I was committed, and so we gave Kleinman our backpacks and I lifted you up on my back (you're not that heavy honestly) and for the ten minutes before classes started I just wore you like a backpack and I carried you to your class and everything and Kleinman (after getting over his ten bucks) thought it was pretty funny too. maybe we would get along if his sense of humor wasn't compounded with him being a complete fuck. thought I'm worse so I can't really complain actually.

oh and I told you about the thing I'm working on and you thought it was cool and mentioned that you would ask Kleinman if he could format the document and stuff when I was done with it. honestly I don't trust him but I trust you to keep his dumb ass in line so I said that would be cool.

you seriously are like the most helpful dude in the world I hope you realize that. stop being so damn likeable, at this rate I'll be one suitor in a damn love triangle or some dumb shit.

except you have a thing for my sister so this is actually more like... what, like, Shakespeare's As You Like It, that whole subplot about the guy who liked a girl who liked this other guy who was actually a girl who liked this guy, and three of them knew exactly where they stood in that lineup while that last guy was just kinda dumb and repressing his bi feelings out of some sense of nobility or something? wait fuck this isn't supposed to be a tangent on As You Like It, it was supposed to be a throwaway metaphor. fuck. ignore that one.

...I say to nobody because nobody is actually reading this.

am I losing my damn mind? I think I'm losing my damn mind. fuck this is why I need sleep. I guess I can pass out here in bio, I've already basically learned most of this shit. that sounds pretty good.

 

Sincerely,

I feel like there's some kind of irony hidden in the sentence "sleeping in bio" but I can't figure it out,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I made a second, secret email because my dad ain't slick and I know he creeps on my regular one, and I asked you to send me any progress or thoughts you have with the college apps thing, because wasting paper is a cardinal sin as far as I'm concerned and it will not stand.

my only worry is that I'll accidentally use "dear evan hansen" to start an email off and I'll be forced to jump into the Adriatic Sea to perish because fucking shit

in the meantime I'm going to ask you to proofread what I had written so far for the writing contest thing, with it explicitly stated that I want you to try and roast me as much as possible because I know you'll be super nervous otherwise. just fuckin kill me Evan Hansen I don't even care anymore

 

Sincerely,

here's hoping the password keeps my dad out this time,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[stressed, depressed, an anxious mess. will i have a nervous breakdown or a fistfight first? nobody knows]]


	10. Chapter 10

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

i can't breathe right i can't do anything right it feels like i might throw up and i can hardly breathe and i'm so so scared and i don't want it to happen like this please god please please please

 

Sincerely

i'm so scared

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

survived that little anxiety attack at about 2am last night. it was honestly probably a long time coming. like, I've been actually doing things, and talking to people. that's weird. I haven't done that in a while.

but, I guess I'm doing better? not good enough to stay for the first half of school but good enough. it's actually kind of warm out so I wish I could go without my hoodie but my mom always gets really weird when she sees my scars so that's not happening. well, I could always just go chill in the field, but... nah fuck it that sounds like fun. I like the field.

 

Sincerely,

I think you would like it there,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

so I may or may not have fallen asleep in the field and gotten sunburn all over my face and arms and missed the whole school day. oops.

and I wouldn't feel as bad about it if not for the fact that apparently I really freaked you out with the whole disappearing act. like, to the point that you were convinced I blocked your number and actually literally talked to my sister and asked her to call me too, and she's pissed at me now. I texted you back that everything's cool, but... sorry.

of course in the height of tactfulness I decided it would be a good time to ask if you wanted to hang out tomorrow, so that's happening. dude I feel so bad for making you worry though.

whatever I just. I have stuff to do

 

Sincerely,

I'll see you tomorrow,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

we hung out and we watched Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium (my favorite movie) on my laptop and then we watched Moana because I still hadn't seen it and it was really nice except for the part where we were sitting so close to each other that I could smell your shampoo and I almost commented on it which would've been bad and anyways that was kinda painful but overall it was fun.

oh and I met your mom because apparently she forgot some books or something for her classes. I couldn't talk to her much because she was already late but she was like super genuinely nice and I am incredibly jealous that your mom cares so much about you.

I mean... okay so my mom isn't so bad, I think she does care, she just... it's hard to put into words. whatever nobody will ever see this anyways.

I guess it's like... she tries so hard to be a good mom, but for a son that she fabricated. she tries to pretend everything is fine with me and it just isn't, and she's having issues accepting that. like, she's trying to appeal to the son she wishes I was, not who I actually am. and... I wish I could be that version of myself! I wish I was like, happy and didn't do drugs and didn't want to die and actually cared about anything, but I don't, and her acting like that's who I am as a person is just...

I just wish this version of myself, the real one, was a version she could love, and she didn't have to pretend that I'm better than I actually am in order to love me.

dad is a whole different story. he doesn't connect to me or zoe, he's always detached or indifferent whenever anything happens, and honestly I feel bad for Zoe. she works so hard and he never really acts like he's happy for her.

I think that might be my fault. I've exhausted all his parenting abilities and now he doesn't want to love her because she might end up a failure too, and he'd be right back where he started.

I don't know if my dad would like you or not. my mom would, because she'd just be happy knowing I have an actual friend like she pretends I do, but I don't know what's going on in my dad's head, and I don't think I care. he's the one who hates the idea of therapy or medication.

I think he wishes I was someone else too. he got me a baseball glove in freshman year for my birthday, which is stupid because I don't even play any sports, because I hate sports as a concept. for my birthday this year I don't know what he'll try and do. kick me out of the house, probably. I wouldn't be surprised.

I just realized I've never heard anything about your dad. or, whoever your other parent is. you just mention your mom a lot. maybe it's a two-mom scenario or something? that might be it. I can just ask you about it tomorrow.

I think it comes down to the fact that they're trying to choose the easiest option when it comes to parenting me and Zoe, y'know? mom pretending everything is fine so she doesn't have to fix Zoe's whole deal, whatever that might be, and my fucking multitude of problems. dad not getting attached at all so that every time I fuck up, he isn't even upset, just annoyed. it just isn't right.

and I feel like an asshole because at least I have a college fund while you're off writing a thousand essays and praying for every penny that goes towards your education. fuck, I'm such an asshole.

whatever. I guess it just... it sucks and I wish I wasn't a coward and that I could talk to you about this for real instead of on paper. but I overslept and was late to school and showed up at like third period and then we were just chilling after school and I didn't want to ruin that for you or anything with my stupid emo problems.

I shouldn't tell you about this.

 

Sincerely,

we aren't the fucking Brady Bunch despite what mom tells people,

Me

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

 

APLAC fucking sucks sometimes, dude, why do I subject myself to this garbage, I want to be asleep.

 

Sincerely,

I don't give a shit about this historian's opinion on the great gatsby, he's an old rich dude talking about a book full of rich dudes,

Me

 

* * *

 

(Hey, so you fell asleep in class while we're running through some important material, so I decided to write down some notes and stuff for you, since it seems like you really care about taking notes in this class! Anyways, here you go! From, Alana Beck)

 

The overarching theme of color in The Great Gatsby:  
-Green=Hope, Gatsby's dream  
-White=Innocence, purity (bluh). Daisy herself  
-Red=Violence, Death. Tom and his girlfriend  
-Yellow/Gold=Materialism, Wealth  
-Blue=Lonliness, Melancholy  
-Grey=Corruption, Bleakness, Moral Decay. Valley of Ashes.

 

Symbolism of the Billboard Eyes: the eyes are supposed to be a reference to God looking down on the people in the Valley and on the "sins" that keep happening there. Kind of a beating-you-over-the-head metaphor though, isn't it?

 

{hey so im back and thanks for taking notes for me and all but can we both agree that nick caraway is totally gay and had a crush on gatsby? like from one person who actually read the novel like more than once to another, can we agree on that?}

 

(Oh my god absolutely I thought it was just me! There was literally a scene that implied he slept with that photographer guy! How did everyone glaze over that scene??? It was so blatant!!)

 

{seriously though. let the man be gay already}

 

(Or bi! Or maybe pan!)

 

{no way, do you remember how he was acting when he went with tom to the city? there were tons of ladies to choose from but he went with the dude. and sure he dated jordan for a bit there but she was also definitely butch and he even mentioned that he didnt know if he actually liked her}

 

(Wait that's a good point. Also, towards the beginning wasn't Jordan the one who brought up Gatsby to Nick? Oh my gosh she was totally trying to play matchmaker with her gay friends!!)

 

{exactly! it makes too much sense to be untrue! and also let's be real but what straight guy has the sense of style that gatsby had right like tbh}

 

(...That is a good point. Wow. I love it.)

 

* * *

 

Dear Alana Beck,

 

so you may be the nicest person possibly ever but you did scare the shit out of me when you took my notebook so cool. I'm not mad like you didn't know, it just spooked me. thanks for taking my notes. and also for the little exchange we had over notes. and thanks for getting me out of trouble with the teacher when she noticed us.

man. you always try so hard. like I never see you relaxed or chilling, you're always on the way to something, busy with another thing, and you need to talk to a teacher or adult about a project or god knows what and I don't get how anyone can do that. you have so much energy and I can't help but wonder why you do all of this. you're already a gold star student and apparently got a composite 35 on the ACT which is fucking insane and you insist you can still do better. you always want to do more, but. why?

why do you think you need to be perfect, Alana Beck? and if you somehow manage it, what then? I hope you reach the place you wanted to go and when you look back, it feels like it all paid off.

 

Sincerely,

I really just hope you make it to where you want to go,

Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[fun fact, for my american history and literature class's final in junior year of high school we had to write a thesis on the great gatsby, and i wrote about 18 pages with six peer-reviewed sources on how f scott fitzgerald was projecting his own queer identity and also his internalized homophobia on gatsby and nick. my teacher loved it and it is, to this day, one of my favorite academic pieces. anyways]]


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